Chapter Nine

The trouble with kissing the vampire was even though he was holding Esmae captive, her body failed to understand that. It failed to understand they were mortal enemies and that he likely cared more for her blood than her wit.

No, all her body knew was that his hands felt right around her, possessive and strong, without bruising. His mouth was demanding, and yet her body loved to cleave to him, had matched his enthusiasm as she tasted him. Her heart had pounded from that searing kiss, faster than it ever had with Jared, even after a lay.

It had taken her mind too long to remember who he was. To look past his charming comments, his blunt observations which were, against all odds, favorable towards her, and his peculiar focus on seeing her hale and hearty. Her initial plan to clear away the fog—focusing on the memory of the bite—failed. Instead, it conjured memories of how her blood had heated from the contact, how he'd sucked her neck and the way her body lit up with desire and need unmatched by any previous inkling of desire she'd felt.

It was only when she recalled the way he brutishly overpowered her will with his vampire thrall that she shoved him away.

And yet—despite what his thrall and supernatural strength—he'd let her.

He'd even given her a place to sleep and withdrawn to the shadows.

He had rescued her, fed her, and now found a place for her to sleep. A bed more comfortable than the lumpy mattress she was forever patching, where she had to either curl her legs to her chest or let her knees fall off the space if she didn't want to cramp. In the vampire's lair, however, she was able to sprawl out, the gentle weight of the blankets keeping her warm and secure.

The only issue was sleep was not forthcoming .

No, because while she'd eventually overpowered her weak-willed body and broken the kiss, the effects lingered. Pressing her inner thighs together did nothing to abate her desire, and relaxing her legs only made the proposition of placing a hand there too inviting.

It's the bite, gods damn him. That must be why.

The supernatural pleasure had been overpowering. The kiss had just reignited her desire.

She bit the inside of her cheek, debating. For stubbornness alone, she should ignore the sensation and make herself sleep. It felt impossible, but Esmae had set off to kill the unkillable. She should be able to ignore this.

But he would bite her again and again, and if this desire was bottled up in her, it was liable to explode. She hoped it was her normal cold, rational thinking talking, and not the lust-addled part of her brain.

The only logical thing to do was to ease this brewing tension before it overwhelmed her. The vampire had left, likely going to his own quarters. It was dark inside the canopy of the bed, private. No one would ever know .

So, slowly, as if scared to so much as rustle the blankets, she slid a hand down, undoing the leather ties of her pants. She lifted her hips just barely, easing them down, and set one finger at her center. It was immediately coated with her wetness.

Gods, she'd never been this needful.

She began to touch, to tend to herself the way she had so often in the past. Normally, when she did so, she didn't think of anything in particular. Positions, perhaps. Some scenarios inspired by gossip. But always with faceless specters. Even when she was with Jared, she'd never once imagined him when getting herself off. Yet this time, she did imagine someone with her. A male with a perfectly sculpted body, curled black hair, and red, slitted eyes. He had that same intensity as when they'd spoken before, but in her reverie, she wasn't unnerved by it. She was aroused by it.

She could almost imagine his scent wrapped around her, smoke and sin—

"Thinking of me, little witch?"

Esmae gasped and her eyes snapped open .

In the dim light left in the dark, she found his form. Silas loomed at the foot of the bed, inside the canopy, staring down at her.

"What—"

He cut off her protest with a sudden movement. Where he'd once stood at the edge, now he was directly above her, his body leaned over hers.

Gods, she hadn't been imagining his scent. This close, just as she'd pictured, her neediness grew. She tried to crush her legs together, but his knee pressed between them through the blanket.

"When you have these needs, I will be the one to tend them," he growled.

When . The gall! Though it was hard to deny that. "If that's my only option, I'd sooner go without."

"Would you really deny yourself to spite me?" He sounded baffled. "A creature like you is made for pleasure."

A creature like you. What did that mean? Confused, she chose another line of defense. "You have a mate. No doubt they wouldn't like you with another female."

Silas's white fangs gleamed. "As I told you, leave all worries about my mate to me. You're my priority this eve, Esmae."

Just the sound of her name on his lips, somewhere between a growl and a purr, had her arching.

"I'm not having sex with you."

She braced for the argument. If there was anything that annoyed the village boys, it was that line. Or worse, they took it as a challenge.

But Silas only nodded, as if it was a foregone conclusion. "I only wish to see to your satisfaction."

A part of her couldn't help but relax at that. Why was the monster so quick to acquiesce to her? In every matter except, well, letting her go or letting her kill him.

"Put your hands above your head, and keep them there," he instructed. The thrall compelled her, and she was glad of it, because if he hadn't—she would have still obeyed.

The movement pushed the blanket down. She was still dressed, but it made her feel exposed all the same. His hand came to her breast, feeling the mound of flesh through the fabric, his finger rolling the peak of her nipple with just enough pleasure to have her sucking in a breath.

"You'll tell me if you dislike anything I do, immediately. You say you honestly wish for me to stop, and I will. You have my word, little witch. Do you understand?"

She nodded. She believed him. Even now, if she said she didn't want this, he'd leave. But her body craved his touch. There was a reason her usual fantasies hadn't sufficed. She'd had a taste of the vampire, and gods smite her, she wanted more.

"I need to hear your pretty voice," he coaxed.

"I understand, Silas."

He stared at her, his fingers stilling. "That's the first time you've said my name, Esmae. I like it."

She flushed. She'd been avoiding it, because saying his name made him seem too much like a person, but it had slipped out before she could stop it. "Delightful. Now, are you going to give me satisfaction, or was that all just talk?"

He grinned, the expression feral in the torchlight. "Fear not, little witch. I'll have you screaming my name before the night is through. "

He descended upon her.

The blanket was ripped away, the cold air pricking at her senses. He pulled her untied trousers down her legs. She widened her legs on instinct, and Silas gave her an approving smirk as a reward. The expression should've turned her off, but no. Seeing the male so confident, so gleeful at her need for him—he could read her movements so godsdamn easily.

She was eager for his fingers, her body longing for even the slightest penetration. She'd said no sex, and she'd meant it. It was wrong to let the creature you planned to kill penetrate you, wasn't it? Surely there was a line. But she felt so empty, need clawing at her. She tested her wrists, straining above, but her hands wouldn't move as though they were tied to the headboard. The restraint made her feel freer to arch, to try to draw him in.

His hands slid slowly along her bare thighs, the touch surprisingly gentle, coaxing.

"Wider, Esmae. Show me all of you."

She obeyed.

"Touch me," she begged .

"I am," Silas said, his movements on her hips utterly unhurried. As if he hadn't a care in the world. Yet his appearance belied his words. His muscles were taut, his eyes bright and hungry. His erection pressed against her leg as he leaned over, just the slightest contact making her jolt.

"More. You know where."

Now his expression turned wicked. "I do. And I'll give you exactly what you need."

At last. She shut her eyes and readied for the contact.

Lick.

Her eyes snapped open. He… he wasn't using his fingers to ease her ache.

He's using his mouth.

Since when had this been an option? She started to speak, but her words were cut off as he gave a long, sensual lick over the length of her slit, coating his tongue with her wetness.

"Delicious. You are perfection, Esmae." His words were gruff, as if he was just as affected as she was. He kissed her there, teasing her entrance. His actions spurred a loud moan, which she tried to cut off, ashamed of how wanton she sounded.

He lifted his head. Gods, the sight of him was erotic, full lips parted, face complete masculine determination, as he peered up from between her legs. "Never stifle your moans, Esmae. Not with me."

She flushed. "I… I can be loud. It's distracting." Something that Jared had found distracting.

His eyes narrowed to slits. "When I find who made you think your pleasure was something to be ashamed of, I'm doing to drain them dry and burn their corpse to cinders. Your moans aren't distracting, love. They're the entire point ."

Dark, dark words. Monstrous words that should have her telling him to get off of her.

Instead, she grew wetter. Silas, of course, noticed. "You like hearing the things I would do to avenge you, my violent witch. Fear not—it's a topic I can speak to at length. But another time, because my mouth is needed elsewhere."

A flutter beat in her chest, a living, uneven sensation. Of all things, why was he making her smile ? True to his word, Silas returned to his post, taking her in his mouth. He sucked and flicked his tongue, making her gasp and groan. But habit had her still biting back the worst of her cries.

"I'm going"— lick —"to make"— suck —"it impossible for you"— flick —"to hold back."

His grip on her thighs was firm, pinning her in place while he feasted. Desire welled inside her, building faster than she'd ever experienced. She felt like her body would detonate at any moment, like a single stroke could send her over the edge. Silas gave her no quarter. Soon, it was impossible to restrain herself, her moans and gasps blending with words, with pleas.

"Silas," she whimpered. "I'm close."

He didn't pause to respond, continuing to worship her with his mouth. Esmae was tumbling towards the edge, close, so close, with release just out of reach. He shifted slightly, and she nearly cried from the loss of contact, except his mouth then found her most sensitive part. A bolt of electricity went through her at the contact. Need. So close.

He sucked and tugged at her clit. She strained, wanting to pin his head there with her hands, but the psychic restraints held true. Close, she was so close—

His fang pierced her.

She exploded.

Pain didn't touch her, only pleasure so overwhelming her vision went white.

"Silas!"

He sucked and sucked, feeding from her. If the bite on her neck had been the most sensual thing she'd ever experienced, this was a hundred times more potent. With each draw of her blood, he injected a new wave of pleasure. Her orgasm ripped through her, but it didn't stop there. Waves of bliss crashed over her, one after the next. Eventually, he took pity on her and drew away, licking flecks of blood from his lips while he stared down at her as her orgasms ricocheted through her, leaving her a quivering mess.

He pulled the blanket up over her, the move startlingly gentle while he remained on the bed.

The move wasn't that of a monster. She blinked back the thought, wrapping her arms around herself, since it seemed he'd also released the thrall. "Okay, you were right. I screamed your name."

He could gloat. He'd earned it. She'd think less of him for it, but, well, he wouldn't be wrong.

Only Silas's expression wasn't teasing or arrogant. He was utterly serious when he said, "If you are pleased, then I won the dearest prize of all."